


The Soirée

by GillO



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29448711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GillO/pseuds/GillO
Summary: Cecily has her own point of view about the evening she told William she really was not interested. This is directly related toWilliam, Cecily and "Fool For Love",a piece of meta I wrote about the gathering in which we see William's rejection.
Relationships: Halfrek | Cecily Addams/William Pratt
Kudos: 4





	The Soirée

I enjoy meeting gentlemen, particularly those with an education. I dislike putting myself forward, but I have been encouraged to welcome them, those who are admitted to our select gatherings. I expect a certain level of decorum, of what we might call _savoir faire_ ; above all, I expect not to be embarrassed.

On that evening I felt confident that I appeared at my best. My gown was far from immodest, but the décolleté was, shall we say, attractive. The pleated band was decorated with flowers in a tasteful shade, a row of pearl buttons ran vertically from my nape to my dress-improver, where my skirts were looped over, trimmed with more deep pleats. Before descending to join the company I turned before my glass, admiring the elegant details of bows and tucks which completed the sleeves and the bodice.

I confess that I delayed my descent. There was considerable company that evening, and what young girl will deny herself the pleasure, the very innocent pleasure, of turning a head or two? I drifted from group to group, chatting lightly, listening to innocuous gossip, ensuring that guests were comfortable and enjoyed themselves.

One young man, dressed in regrettably casual attire, followed me, I felt. As I reached to accept a chilled glass of wine, he was there, alone and seated. As I gave my hand to a respected guest, about to leave, he was there, standing by the stairs. As I took a light snack from the tray Jones proffered me, I could see him still, seated by the window, writing paper on his lap. He gazed at me, the intensity of his eyes visible even through the spectacles perched on his nose.

I see no need to deny it. I felt less than comfortable.

I moved across to join my sisters, as elegantly attired as I but more fortunate, as each was accompanied by a man, properly attired in morning coats in each case. I am not one to judge by first impressions, but such garb tells one something about a man. So does a brown suit, but not the same thing.

Bella and Letty were not delighted by my company, I could see. In the subtle ways shared by our sex they signalled that my absence would be as welcome as my company. The gentlemen, I am certain, were oblivious, hearing only their trills of laughter, seeing only their smiles and fine eyes. I abandoned them to their fate and moved with dignity to a sofa in the bow window.

The young man followed me. I should call him the young “gentleman”, I know, but his loose cravat, revealing something of his throat, his hair falling loosely across his forehead, above all the pale brown suit suggested to me that this was not a person of a class I should encourage. I had seen him at previous gatherings, I thought, and it is possible we had been introduced; how else would I have known that his name was William?

He was not ill-looking, I admit that. His smiles had a shy charm, his eyes had a piercing blue intensity. Nothing about him, however, suggested that he was, shall we say, qualified for my attentions? When he offered me some sheets of paper which were inscribed in a fair, clear hand, but contained poetry of an excessively romantic variety, what could I do? A lady should not, must not allow herself to be misinterpreted. Ambiguity between a man and a woman is the friend of neither.

I expressed myself succinctly yet with dignity and, I feel, appropriate kindness. It was not his place to make such overtures of romance to me. They were not welcome, nor could I encourage their renewal. His face expressed some level of distress, I own. A few moments later he left the house. I did not see him again.

I moved smoothly away, joining a party in which I recognised my good friend, Lord Arthur. With him I knew quite where I was; he would never appear at such a gathering ill-dressed, nor make such fatuous declarations of affection. Of passion, later, much later that night, we will not speak. Lord Arthur was excessively well-qualified to share time with me, in every way: sartorially, financially, physically.

A girl has to make her living somehow, after all.


End file.
